“To help me.”
“To help us both.” He scrubbed a hand over his head. “I didn’t know it then, but an omnipotent being guided our journey.”
Someone else was involved? She wanted to ask, but forced herself to be patient.
“After your second night of dreams, I grew angry. I yelled. It was unfair for me to watch your torment and not be able to help.” He laughed, a bitter sound. “I got an answer. A female voice cut through the night. ‘It’s easier to solve people’s problems with a pill than to dig too deeply. When patients complain they still don’t feel better…up their dosage’.”
She winced. “Something you said?”
“A direct quote.” His face screwed up. “I was being reminded, watching your pain, that not everything gets solved with drugs.”
“And that’s when you were allowed into my dreams, like a player instead of a watcher.”
He gave a wry shake of his head. “Almost. But first, I had a visitor at my fire.”
“The woman who spoke?” she asked excitedly.
“No. Another man. Paxton. He came in across the emptiness as I had, and revealed a similar story; making a living off other people’s grief.”
“Wow. Somebody really has it out for you guys.”
“No. Not really. I’ve come to understand, this woman saw something in me just as you have…as you say my patients do. She arranged this whole thing to give me a second chance.” His face grew puzzled. “But just as we began making headway, giving you power over your nightmare, she pulled me away.”
“To where?” Darby felt better. Hutch hadn’t left of his own volition. She hadn’t misjudged him.
“You’re not going to believe this.”
She snorted. “Let’s see. I dream you up. You turn out to be real. You come see me and tell me you’ve been whisked away to the Land of Nod. And I won’t believe you?”
He acquiesced. “What if I told you the Land of Nod was purgatory?”
She screwed up her face. “Purgatory? That’s where she took you?”
“No. The fire was purgatory. The woman took me to Hell.”
The Underworld
Office of Special Projects
“Looks like things are going swimmingly,” the queen walked into her office, smiling.
“You’re a sly one. You knew Hutch wouldn’t abandon Darby. Did you also know they’d end up as an item?”
Ereshkigal chuckled. “Let’s say, I had an inkling.”
Bel nodded happily. “I like it. And Hutch has exceeded all my expectations. Once he’s concluded his mission and his…courtship, I’m thinking of retaining his services with my new recruits.”
Ereshkigal coughed and looked at her feet. “Speaking of new recruits…”
“What?” Bel’s breath caught. “You’re not shutting me down, are you?”
“No. On the contrary. You’re doing such a good job, I, uh, need to ask how comfortable you’d be changing things up a bit.”
“Changing what?” Bel didn’t like this. The queen rarely showed uncertainty.
“There’s someone I know who could really benefit from your program.”
Bel tilted her head. Nothing terrible here. “Tell me who, and I’ll add his name to the roster.”
“You’re not going to like it.”
“Try me.”
“Galla.”
“What?!” Bel did her best not to shriek. “That cocky bastard?”
Galla was a womanizer. Perhaps the original womanizer. Son of Satan, early in life he’d been cast out by his father into ancient Babylonia where he’d cut a wide swarth, seducing every female in his path. When facing judgment for his behavior, even old Beelzebub hadn’t wanted his philandering offspring back, agreeing instead his son become a god, and rule over a small portion of the Underworld. A ruler, yet a prisoner.
Bel couldn’t believe he was being dumped in her lap.
Ereshkigal didn’t flinch. “There’s something redeemable in him. I know it. He just needs a kick in the ass, and I think you can provide that.”
“I’m pleased at your confidence in me, but really? Galla? Damn.” She chewed on her lower lip. “I’ll definitely need Hutch for this one. And it’ll take a lot of research to find the right nightmares for that debauched ass.”
Ereshkigal smiled, smugness on her face. “Exactly. He won’t know what hit him.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“You went to Hell.” Darby didn’t question it as much as want clarification he wasn’t crazy.
“Yes. And it gets more bizarre. There’s an office there, The Office of Special Projects. It’s run by a goddess named Beletseri. Bel.”
“You’re a special project?”
“Yes. Along with Paxton, and another guy, Gunni, who showed up recently.”
“And that’s it? Three of you?”
“Not even close, I fear. Beletseri is new to this venture, but it has ‘long term’ written all over it. I wouldn’t be surprised if this is an ongoing enterprise.”
“Wow. Second chances for all.” Darby grinned. “I kind of like it.”
He snorted. “Well, she scares the crap out of me, but she’s taught me my lesson. I feel confident Paxton will be okay, but Gunni…”
“What’s his story?”
Hutch was happy to follow this line of conversation. It kept him from talking about the real issue, her attacker.
“Gunni is an airline pilot. Ex-military, he was medically discharged from the Navy for damage to his hip.”
She screwed up her face. “That can’t be what set him on a course for Hell, though.”
“No. This is only speculation, but I believe he’s using drugs to alleviate his pain. Drugs that would preclude him from flying a jumbo jet.”
“Oh my God. You think he’s flying under the influence?”
“It’s a good bet.”
“Damn. I hope Bel can help him.”
Wow. That was her take. Not condemnation. He could really learn a thing or two from her.
“Well, it’s either accept help, or end up in Hell for eternity.” His mind cringed. Without Bel’s intervention, that would have been his fate.
Several customers demanded attention, so Darby straightened.
“Excuse me.” She walked the length of the counter to the register.
He watched her work cheerfully and efficiently. She was much too good for this place, and clearly, educated. Why did she stay? Especially after the attack. Could money be that tight? Her situation was an anomaly to Hutch. Another wildcard for his pile of “things I know fucking nothing about”.
Finishing up, she came back. “It’s going to get busy. From six to nine I’m usually slammed. So if you want to leave and come back—”
“No!” He probably spoke too loudly and too forcibly. He tempered his tone. “I’m good sitting right here. Besides, what is there to do in Minneapolis at this hour besides keep a pretty lady company?”
She gave him a skeptical stare. “You’re full of shit. And I haven’t figured the rest of you out yet, but I will. And the whole therapist thing? Just so you know. It drives me nuts.” She walked away to do her job. He was sure there was an added swing to her hips.
He couldn’t help his grin. He really liked her. Now if he could convince her to quit her job. Leave Minneapolis and come back with him…
Whoa, wait. What was he thinking? Hutch shook his head. He’d only known her for a couple hours…or a handful of days if you counted the dreams. And he was ready to have her move in? Utter insanity.
Over the next few hours, he scrutinized every male who entered the store for their bad-guy, as Darby indefatigably served the public.
Blond hair, the scraggly bits he remembered on the intruder, favored every sixth man. So not a lot of help. The tattoo’s position on the back of his neck was equally problematic. It being winter, there were scarves, and coat collars were high. It was a rare person who revealed that patch of skin.
By the time business slowed, his
frustration soared.
“Two more hours,” Darby came toward him and leaned her elbows on the counter, hands under her chin. “Today seems long.”
“Because I’m here?”
“Because you haven’t revealed why you came,” she rebutted with a playful edge.
“Curiosity?” he offered.
“Attraction?” she countered, looking up at him from under lowered lashes.
He didn’t prevaricate. “Definitely that.”
She sighed. “But there’s more. Right?”
Again, he couldn’t lie. “Yes.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “How about I take you to lunch when your shift ends, and I’ll tell you?”
“Dutch treat,” she countered, her tone brooking no argument.
“No. I’m paying. It’ll be our first date.”
Her brows drew together. “I don’t accept handouts. And since we just met…”
It was a losing battle, but his gaze went to the scratch tickets on the wall. “I tell you what. I’ll take twenty-five dollars’ worth of lottery tickets. If I win back more than my investment, I pay. If I don’t, you pick up your own tab.”
“Hah. There’s a sucker born every minute.” Her scoffing laugh made him grin. “It’s your money to waste. Go for it.”
He pulled some bills from his pocket and put them on the counter. “Five, five-dollar tickets, please.”
“Any preference?” she asked sassily, scooping his money up to deposit it in the register.
“I’ve never played before, so you pick.”
Her green eyes opened a fraction wider. “Never? As in…never?”
“Nope.”
“Fine.” She turned in place and dragged five tickets from the same spool, folding them in on each other to place the stack in front of him. “There you go.”
He looked at her, sheepishly. “Do you have a coin?”
“No change?” She looked at him cheekily, then dug in her pocket, coming up with a fistful. “Here.” She tossed him a penny.
“Not going to kiss it for luck?”
“Eww.” She grimaced. “Money is gross. I seriously don’t touch my face while I’m working the register.”
Smart and careful.
He read the instructions and began scratching.
The first one went fast. “Nothing.”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
He took his time with the next. “Lucky seven!” he exclaimed. “Look. I win five dollars.”
“Now you’re only down twenty.” She shook her head.
“Oh, ye of little faith. I’m just getting started.”
He won ten on the next ticket, sending her a gloating look, but then struck out on the fourth. “One left.” He went agonizingly slow, just to keep the mocking, pursed lipped look on her face.
“Wait. What’s this?” He’d uncovered a pot of gold, which apparently was good. Looking at the key… “I won a hundred dollars.” He grinned.
“What? No.” She leaned down, turning the ticket toward her. “Son of a… Beginner’s luck.” She snatched up his pile and stomped to the register while he laughed.
“Looks like I can afford a pretty good lunch. Where do you want to go?” he asked as she spun back and plunked the bills down in front of him.
She got a cute, confused look on her face. “I’m not good with lunch places. You’ll have to pick.”
Another customer demanded her attention, so while she was occupied, he pulled out his phone and Googled eateries. Nothing in this neighborhood looked appealing, but he had his car. Bingo. Less than two miles away, a Churrascaria. He called to her. “Do you eat meat?”
“Every chance I get,” she answered, telling the patron to have a good day. She shut the register and moved back to him. “What are you thinking?” She angled her head to try to look at his phone, but he hid it against his jacket.
“You’ll see. I think you’ll like it.”
At exactly five to eleven, a tall young man walked in. Blond. “Hey Darby.”
“Hey, yourself, Seth.”
Ah. The co-worker with the dog. Could he also be her attacker?
The guy moved into the store and took off his jacket, headed toward the rear to hang it up. The back of his neck was visible. Hutch heaved out a breath. Not the suspect.
“How’s Jersey doing?” Darby asked, buzzing out so Seth could take over.
“He and Gram have bonded, big time. He sleeps on her bed, and keeps her feet warm while she watches TV. A match made in heaven.” He noticed Hutch for the first time. “Who’s this?”
“I’m Hutch.” He stood and stuck out his hand. “A match made in Hell.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Darby waited until they were outside to smack him on the shoulder. “Really? A match made in Hell?” She rolled her eyes. “Cheesy.” In actuality, she liked it. She hadn’t been anyone’s match from anywhere in a very long time. Fourteen years to be exact, but who was counting.
“I’ve never been called cheesy before,” he speculated with a chuckle. “Shall I work on my inappropriate joke repertoire?”
“Forget it. Anyone who says repertoire is a lost cause.”
“Culture can be so stifling,” he mockingly sighed. “Now, come. Your chariot awaits.” He bowed at the waist, and instead of looking silly, he rocked the gallant thing.
Damn her for reading too many regency novels, and damn him for seemingly stepping off their pages. She needed to keep her head, because whatever he’d come for—and she wished it was just her—it would fuck her up.
She slid onto a butter-soft seat after he opened her door, and sighed. The damn thing smelled like brand-new car. When was the last time she’d experienced that? Darby closed her eyes and inhaled.
Her father. He’d bought a new SUV when he’d signed his contract with the Twins farm team. Life had been looking nowhere but up…until it all fell apart. She blinked back tears. Dammit. Familiar smells sent her spiraling every time.
Hutch got in and started the car.
“Are you okay?”
Why did he have to be so perceptive?
“Fine. Just a little nostalgic.” She purposely brightened. “Where are we headed?”
“A couple miles away. There’s a spot that gets five stars, and I’m a sucker for Churrascaria.”
“Yumm! Brazilian.” She’d never tried it…or anything else because eating out was not in her budget. But she read about food and travel, living in her imagination, keeping up with trends.
“I have high hopes.” He cleared his throat. “I also have semi-high hopes you’ll share more about your life. I’ve been in your dreams, Darby. I know there’s a lot you haven’t said. A lot that worries you besides the robbery.”
She sucked on her tongue, sending him a sour look, then pointed her finger at his face. “Have I mentioned that you being a psychiatrist might be a dealbreaker?”
“You may have expressed some concerns. But I’m not worried.” A dimple popped out on his cheek. “You also think I’m handsome, remember?”
She snorted. “Apparently, you’re not going to let me forget.”
“But on that psychiatrist note…”
Darby groaned.
“…how did your dreams go the last two nights, with me not being there?”
This, she could answer. “Much better. You started me down a road I hadn’t been able to access, one where I tapped into my own strength. The night before last, I broke a coffee pot and held up the jagged glass, ready to defend myself.”
“That’s good progress. Were you able to avert the…danger?”
She pursed her lips. “You can say ‘beating’. I’m not going to cower and throw up or anything.”
“Okay,” he grinned. “Did you kick his ass?”
Darby threw back her head and laughed. Hutch was handsome all the time, but when he came out of his comfort zone and said a word like “ass”, he looked adorably naughty. It made her go all…effervescent, inside. When was the last time sh
e’d felt this kind of joy?
“I didn’t have a chance. I woke up before he came in the door.”
“A decided improvement.” His pleased demeanor spurred her on.
“Absolutely. I was even able to go back to sleep and dream normal stuff.”
“And last night?”
She drew her eyebrows together, still perplexed. “It was weird. I can’t remember my dreams, or if I had my nightmare. I woke up when my alarm went off.”
“That’s pretty normal. Most people have nights where they dream but don’t recall any of them. So I’d say the nightmare didn’t happen, because its intrusion has always triggered you to retain the memory of other dreams.”
It made sense.
He cleared his throat. She looked over and noticed a level of discomfort.
“And…”
Things were going well. What was on his mind?
“…can we talk about your other dreams?”
A puzzling request. She knew he’d been in them with her, but most were just nonsense. Long country roads, riding dogs, chalk drawings with umbrellas. Why would he want to revisit them?
“Uh, I guess. Although they’re kind of a jumble.”
“Not so much.” He shook his head. “Let’s start with the ones that made you feel good.”
She nodded for him to continue. In her lap, her hands clutched each other. She forced them to relax.
He gave a gentle smile. “I like the one where you danced down the alley. Do you remember it? You touched the reading men on their heads.” He pulled into a parking lot. “I take it you like reading?”
Darby grinned. She easily recalled that dream. “I absorbed their energy, didn’t I?”
“You did.” He put the car in park and turned to her, settling back against his door.
She sighed. “Not that it helped me in the long run to combat my nightmare, but yes. I read a lot, and it makes me feel powerful, like I can be any character in any book.”
“A nice escape from…”
He led her, and she knew it, but played along. To a point.
“From my daily grind. You know. Everyone has one. Get up, go to work, pay the rent. Blah, blah, blah.”
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